Before Beyond
by riseBeyond
Summary: How had he come to this point? With only half his brain Beyond Birthday began to reminisce over everything he had experienced. Everything that had led up to this moment in time…Just a little fic about B and his history at Wammy's.


Looking down at the corpse he mumbled something inaudible to himself. The man looked like he could be sleeping, if it weren't for the marks around his neck. He had a strange sense. It was a bit of a rush to kill. Beyond tightly gripped the knife in his hand and bent over the corpse of Believe Bridesmaid. How had he come to this point? With only half his brain Beyond Birthday began to reminisce over everything he had experienced. Everything that had led up to this moment in time…

The gentle hum of the plane had lulled him to sleep. The raven haired boy was awoken by a female voice urging the passengers to buckle up. The boy stretched out his arms. Though it was his legs that could use the exercise. He groaned at having to wake up in the first place. He peered out the window at the new surroundings. He was more than ready to start a new life, having nothing to leave behind. No friends, no family, and very few earthly possessions to speak of.

There were three events that stuck out in his mind.

The first was the day he learned his little friend was not coming back. At the time he neither fully understood what death meant, nor what the floating numbers were. All he knew was one day he was waiting impatiently for a play date when his mother told him it wasn't going to happen. He had asked when he would see Timothy again, and she did her best to explain to the five year old that they wouldn't have any more play dates. At first he protested thinking she was simply withholding his friend out of spite or as some sort of punishment. But at the funeral seeing his sleeping friend he began to understand that Timothy was leaving him for good.

As he turned six he waited up past his bedtime unable to sleep but being forced to suffer the nine-o-clock news. His mother seemed particularly distressed that her husband had yet to return home and busied herself by scrubbing the microwave. Because apparently deep cleaning was something one did when they were anxious. They were both startled by the shrill ring of the door bell. His mother opened the door and not so happily greeted a man in blue who flashed her a shinny badge as he introduced himself. The five-year- old couldn't quite hear what they were conversion about but several minutes later she wandered into the living room with a tear streaked face, too upset over what she had just heard to punish him for being out of bed. She again had to explain to him that like Timothy he father was never coming back. This time he breathed a sigh of relief. While his mother was visibly distressed, he had mixed emotions. Clearly he ought to be upset but he felt comfort in knowing that man was no longer around to hurt him.

And finally was the day was just as he was a few month shy of seven, at his mother's funeral. He ignored the look of disgust he was being given by his last remaining relative. Shouldn't a child be sad that their mother was dead? But by now the child had accepted the fact that people leave. His aunt clearly expressed that she had no intention of taking him in. He was different, troublesome, and he had just as little interest in her. Which meant he was bound for a youth in foster homes.

He dragged a heavy suit case behind him while a man with his hand on his shoulder guided him to a car lying in wait for them. An older man was next to it, the boy lifted his gaze upward above his head out of habit. Roger Ruvie.

Names and numbers. Names and numbers. He found it impossible to forget a person's face when their name was permanently dancing in his vision. This was something he learned to keep to himself. For the one time he mentioned it to his mother she called him crazy and a few days later he found himself trying to explain it to a child psychologist, with little luck. But the numbers were a little bit more confusing. A sequence he had to pause to think about although he would pick it up eventually. Lots of numbers but not his own. Which baffled him every time he looked in the mirror. The universe seemed to be laughing at him, pulling a prank in giving everyone else a death date and not him. Not that he could see and there didn't seem to be any explanation for it either.

He lightly tapped the window of the car before sliding in with a bag on his lap, he played with the straps anxiously. The floor beneath him he found absolutely fascinating as ignored the voice coming from the seat next to him. He knew he should be listening but he had already been told where he was going and a vague why. He was only slightly perplexed at the idea.

Although L, whoever he was, seemed like a lovely idea. A great mysterious detective. It was like something from a movie, book, or in his interest a manga. And he was supposed to become him. Perhaps not literally but to an eight year old it was basically his learned idea from what he had been told. Well he might. He knew of only one other and presumably there would be more, but how many he did not know and found it useless to worry over. He knew he was smart and had potential, but from what he'd been told Wammy's House, where he was headed, would take that to a new level. And he had his own little trump card. How cool would it be to have a detective who could see people's names? The thought gave him a small boost, just enough to lift his head and look out at the passing cars and slush splashing as the wheels ran through the sleet.

He liked to tell himself he was special. His mother always told him he was smart, and on occasion so did teachers. However it was always followed by a devious, or troublesome. He was pretty sure he was smarter than anyone twice his age. Smart enough to be dragged halfway around the globe. Although he knew little about why or how he was chosen. Although he was focused on the new accent he was barely hearing anything the older man was saying.

They wanted a replacement, for a person? How odd. But no more odd than the person who was no more to the world than a single letter. L needed no name, and apparently neither did his successors.

" _It's a safety precaution." He was never to tell his name to anyone. Instead he was assigned a letter along with a code name (which had yet to be determined). The first letter of his name. The code name would be assigned, a notion that was much less amusing. It was nothing like waiting in line to find out what part in a play you had. More like having your identity ripped from you and then forced into a new one like a computer program._

" _B" He answered. Never had simply relaying a letter felt so unnatural, so strange coming from his lips. It seemed as if he was throwing something away, something important. Like himself. But then again he never thought his named fit him well._

"Backup".

He turned his head at the sound of the word. He looked over at the man who had broken him out of his trance. Well, coming up with a code name hadn't taken that long. It wasn't what he was expecting. It wasn't a name or even a title. Simply a word. One that held a fair amount of status, but not a high status. Simply one that denoted a possibility. He might as well have been called "maybe" or "second" for all the promise the word...or name held.

When they had arrived he looked around with fascination and tilted his head to see higher. The building seemed to be old, but in excellent condition. It's brick exterior gave off a sense of nostalgia. He slid out of the car and held onto his suitcase but made no move to get closer. It was too big, at least bigger than he expected. Which only served to make him feel smaller. His hesitation did not go unnoticed.

A hand grabbed onto his own little gloved hand and pulled him along. He didn't want to be pulled, much less having his hand held like a small child (even if he was one). Wriggling his hand and arm he slid his hand out of the glove leaving the man's hand empty save for the glove. He sighed and gave the glove back to the boy and gave him a little push forward. He spoke words of comfort but none of them really concerned the boy. He wasn't really worried about feeling out of place or making friends. Both of these were surely true, however neither fitting in or finding friends was a priority to him so long as he didn't have to worry about being dejected by the institution itself. He walked along dragging his suitcase behind him.

Across the gravel up the steps and through the doors. His gaze left the ground to look up at the entrance if only briefly.

The quiet gave him the slightest shock, he knew he would be separated from the other regular children at the orphanage, but that also meant there were others. Surely there were, for it couldn't have been empty, and they couldn't just throw the kids out. Eventually they would all leave and it would cater to finding an L copy. Even so, the stillness was hardly broken by the distant sound of children. If there was any sound at all. He wasn't sure that he wasn't imagining the sound as the only movement being made was from their footsteps and the roll of the little wheels on the wood floor.

Few words were spoken; all that needed to be said at this point was establishing were the basic rules of living such as curfew, mealtimes, and so forth. But he was far too exhausted from travel to really comprehend in its entirety the information given to him. He simply filed it away in the back of his head to be later examined when he was fully alert.

They were stopped at a door modest in size but not in quality. As with everything else in the building. He paused in front of the door looking aside briefly as if questioning the existence of the door and wondering if he was welcome to open it. Putting it off was useless though. His small hand grabbed the handle and only need to give the door a little push to open it. Only one side of the room showed any signs of living. The other was bare, but more like a frame, a skeleton without skin. A simple desk attached to shelves pressed against the wall next to a dresser and a bed which held a neat pile of sheets and pillows. Of course without an occupant to climb into it there was no point in having it. The boy hadn't strayed from the doorway yet seemed to be waiting for some sort of invitation as he leaned against the door frame and gave it a few inaudible taps with his finger as he looked around. He was mostly unaware of how small and apprehensive seemed. Though his emotions were closer to cautiousness. Because getting too comfortable meant letting out more of himself than he wanted. And letting himself out meant leaving a piece of himself behind when his inevitable departure came. As childish as it sounded he detached himself from places as much as he did people.

He took a deep breath and passed through the doorway, ready to begin a new life.

Well this is a fic that has been a long time coming. I started it years ago but it never made it past the rambling stage. It was more like a few random drabbles than a coherent fic. But I finally decided to chomp down and do it. I don't know how long it will take to finish this as there is a lot of decisions to make before I even begin writing, but hopefully it wont take years. The fic is rated T for reasons that should be obvious later. Anyway I hope this sets the scene.


End file.
